Cassidy St. Claire and The Fountain of Youth Parts I, II, & III

by A. H. Rousseau

  “I didn't bring anything,” replied Jacob.

  “Don't worry about it. We'll be gone for a day at most.”

  “I usually stink anyhow,” added Jacob.

  “Do we have any offices in Monterey?” asked Cassidy. “I’m assuming we do.”

  “We do,” replied Margie, walking in to help Cassidy with her clothing. “One of our primary west coast shipping stations still operates there. It handles all cloth shipments to and from Asia.”

  “Really? Why haven't we moved those up here?”

  “Cassidy, I don't know. Why are you asking me?” replied Margie.

  “Why am I asking that at all?” Cassidy said, annoyed with herself.

  “You're finally beginning to question your own actions. It's a breakthrough,” said Amos with a mock smile.

  Cassidy gave Amos a sarcastic, toothy smile and bobbed her head side-to-side slightly. “Well nevermind that. Do we have any security there? Actually, nevermind that. I wouldn't want to scare him away with a large team.” Cassidy paused and after a moment of thought, looked incredulously at Margie. “Wait, why do you know that?”

  “Know what?”

  “About the operations in Monterey?”

  “Dearie,” Margie said, “I know almost everything about this company. It’s not just yours, you know.”

  “Yes, well I… wait, what do you mean by that?”

  Margie was focused on straightening Cassidy's collar and brushing crud and dust from her shoulders. “I’m a shareholder.”

  Cassidy furrowed her brow in thorough surprised. “You are?”

  “Yes. Your parents paid me with shares and I used my money to buy even more. It's not like I needed money when living here. Everything is paid for. I now own almost one-half of one percent of St. Claire industries.”

  Cassidy looked slightly away, puzzled, with a fierce, flat brow over wide eyes. “Why didn’t I know this?”

  “You never asked.”

  Cassidy leaned to the side to see past Margie. “Amos, do you own shares?”

  “Yes, miss. I own many.”

  “Like, how many?”

  “Many many,” replied Amos with a hint of Amos’s trademarked condescension.

  “Do you two even have to work here?” asked Cassidy.

  “What? You thought we stayed for the money?” asked Margie, staring at Cassidy while she leaned back a bit, looking a bit insulted. “You don’t pay us that much.”

  “Well, no. I mean, I knew you could leave, because, well, I’m not keeping you here. And you are all skilled, intelligent... I just assumed that you were also working to, well… it just sounds so petty now that I’m saying it... and you don’t think I pay you enough?” Cassidy paused briefly, her brow furrowed in consternation. “I’m uncomfortable now, let’s leave,” she said, pointing at Jacob.

  “Good idea, dear,” Margie said, caressing Cassidy’s cheek and giving her a kiss on the other.

  “Don’t tell Will where I’m going, ok?” asked Cassidy.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” said Margie.

  Cassidy and Jacob then ran out the door.

  “Sometimes I wonder if she's aware that other people exist when she is not in the room,” said Amos.

  “Oh stop it, Amos,” Margie chastised. “You old grump.”

  The large door slammed, echoing in the foyer.

  5

  Cassidy and Jacob dropped heavily off the train car onto the dirt. They were covered in feathers and had looks of exhausted annoyance on their faces. The sound of chickens raged in the car as they shut the door. “It had to be a pullet train. It couldn’t have just been a car load of knife-wielding hobos, oh no. It had to be goddamned chickens.” Jacob picked up their sacks and handed Cassidy hers. She took it and threw it over her shoulder. “Ok. Where’s your friend.”

  Jacob adjusted his sack to a more comfortable spot on his shoulder before limply pointing and barely mustering his words. “South. Just past a field.” He turned and looked sleepily at Cassidy.

  Cassidy furrowed her brow and looked around, sniffing loudly. “What’s that smell? Is that… is that fish?”

  “Yes,” replied Jacob. “We are just down the way from many fish houses. They take all the fish off the boats and process them for markets.”

  “My god, the smell is everywhere. San Francisco isn’t like this. Do these people just not know that their city stinks? Because good god. No one visits here, I guarantee it. No one ever says to their husband ‘dear, I would love to go to a place that smells like a dead fish’s asshole.’” Jacob just looked at Cassidy, tired and blank. “Right. Yes. Before we go anywhere, let's go to the St. Claire warehouse. I'd like to pick up a few toys before we go into a situation.”

  ---

  Cassidy and Jacob walked into the saloon. The small crowd of about a dozen men stopped their chatter to stare at them.

  “Getting drunk and four in the afternoon. That's the way to do it,” said Cassidy.

  Jacob motioned with the tilt of his head over the bar. They stepped up to the bar where the bartender, a tall, slender man with big hands, a moustache, and receding hair line was washing glasses. “What can I get you two?” asked the bartender with a noticeable Texan accent.

  “Beer,” replied Cassidy. “Cold if possible.”

  “All of the beer comes up from the basement. It stays pretty cold down there,” replied the bartender.

  “That's fine,” Cassidy said curtly while looking around a bit.

  “Same,” added Jacob. “Any temperature is fine.” He smirked at Cassidy who responded with a smile/sneer.

  “A ruski, eh?” asked the bartender. “You don't want any wod-kuh?”

  “I'm not Russian,” replied Jacob. “Wait, you have vodka?”

  “What's your deal?” interjected one of the two men at the end of the bar.

  Cassidy, Jacob, and the bartender looked down at them. “Pardon?” asked Cassidy.

  “What's your deal? Are you pretending to be a man or something? Or are you just a really ugly dude?”

  “Bobby. Calm down,” said the bartender, his hand held up slightly in a calming position.

  “I'm calm. I'm totally calm. I'm just confused.” By now, Cassidy was looking at the wall behind the bar as she sipped her beer, some head dropping down the side of the glass. “Do you think that dressing like that makes you a man? Because I got news for you; you need a good, long cock.”

  “Jeez, Bobby. What the hell has gotten into you? You either calm down, and lock down that gutter mouth, or you're out,” commanded the bartender.

  “C'mon. I'm just having fun.”

  “Well, have your fun in a more respectful manner.”

  “I am. She wants to dress that way, I'll talk to her that way.”

  “Talking that way is liable to get you socked,” replied the bartender. “So stop being a jackass.”

  “At least I don't think I'm a woman.” Cassidy continued to pay them no attention. “So yeah, what's your deal?”

  “I don't have a deal,” replied Cassidy.

  “You sure as hell do. Look at you. You want to hang around with men, is that it? You could hang around with me and my friend here. We're fun.”

  “I'm sure that you are,” replied Cassidy, “but I'm good, thanks.”

  “What? You think you're better than us?”

  Cassidy continued to not look at them. “I hadn't thought about it.”

  “Don't listen to 'em,” said the bartender quietly.

  “It's alright. I've dealt with this sort of stuff before,” replied Cassidy. “I know how this situation ends.”

  “Do you see this, Ossie? Stuck up bitch thinks she's better than us.”

  “Nope. I just want to finish my business here.”

  “Business? You have business? What kind of business?”

  “Personal business,” replied Cassidy.

  Bobby harrumphed. “I've met women like you before.”

  “You've met women before? I'm surprised.” Cas
sidy interrupted.

  Bobby became visibly upset. “You're the problem with this country. All angry and uppity. Just want to mess with the world or something? Gotta' come in here, to our place, and stink it up? This is our place! We come here to get away from you! The last thing I want to see when drinking my whiskey is some stuck-up whore.”

  “Yeah. You'd much rather just stare at the bottom of the glass and wonder why the world has yet to give you a living,” said Cassidy.

  Bobby went red and pushed his stool out, standing. The bartender glared at Bobby. “We got to keep women away from these things because it's the only thing keeping this country up.

  “Women... coming into saloons... is destroying the country. That is a theory I have not yet heard,” said Cassidy.

  “Just because you dress like us doesn't make you a man. You know that, right. Parading around in front of us. You dress that way just because it's easier to spread your legs.

  Cassidy sighed. “What? No it's not. It's easier to spread your legs in a dress. You have to take pants off. Do you bother thinking for even a moment before words fall out of your hole?”

  “I got something for your hole. Angry niggers and whores, they cause all of our troubles, I tell you.”

  “Last warning, Bobby. Last one. Cut the language,” said the bartender, increasingly angry.

  “What are you doing?” Bobby asked, ignoring the bartender. “Trying to prove something to us? Think you're the better man!” Bobby said with a laugh, indicating that he thought this was witty.

  Cassidy sipped her beer. “That's about the long and the, uh... short… of it,” she replied.

  Bobby's face went red. “Fuckin' whore. You want a cock so badly? I could straighten you out good with mine.”

  “That's it, Bobby!” Yelled the bartender. “You're out!”

  Cassidy slammed her massive St. Claire revolver onto the bar, making a loud metallic thud, her taught, muscular forearms gripping it tightly. The two men and the bartender stared wide-eyed at it. “Or maybe I'll just blow your cock off and keep it,” Cassidy said, before turning slightly to eye the two men through vicious slits. “Although I doubt it's as big as I would want.” A number of people in the saloon quickly got up and left. They all stared at one another for a number of seconds before the bartender finally spoke.

  “I mean it, Bobby. Get out.” The two men didn't move. “Get out before you get killed.”

  The two men slowly rose from their seats before walking out. Cassidy turned back to face the bartender after the men were at the door. “Thanks for that,” said Cassidy. “I don't usually find friends in saloons.”

  “Not a problem, ma'am,” replied the bartender. “Man or woman, everyone is welcome in my saloon and hotel.”

  “Oh, you own the entire thing?”

  “Yes ma'am. My father built it after we moved up from Texas twenty-some years ago. We owned a big herd “Why do you dress that way, anyhow?”

  “Why do you dress that way?” asked Cassidy in reply.

  “Well, because I'm a man.”

  “So what you're saying is that the only thing preventing you from wearing a dress is that you're a man?”

  “No, I mean... I mean that I'm dressing as I'm expected to dress.”

  “So why don't you dress how you want to dress?”

  “Yes, but, I do want to dress this way.”

  “So you dress that way because you want to dress that way?”

  “Yes. And also because I tend bar.”

  “Well you just answered your question. I dress this way because I want to, and also because I shoot people.”

  The bartender stared at Cassidy with an intrigued look on his face for a moment. “Do you shoot people?”

  “No. Not really. I mean, I have shot people, but I don't make a habit of it. It's not like I wander around cities blowing people away, although that does sound fun.”

  The bartender took Cassidy half-finished beer from her and topped it up. “What do you think of little miss Annie Oakley? I saw her shoot in Cincinatti, Ohio.”

  “Annie Oakley?” Cassidy's eyes moved about for a moment in thought. “I don't think I know Annie Oakley.”

  “You will soon,” replied the bartender, increasingly animated. “She's one hell of a crack shot. It's all part of her show. She never misses. Not once.”

  “Everyone misses,” replied Cassidy.

  “Not her. Believe you me. I've never seen anything like it.”

  As the bartender continued on about Annie Oakley, the door to the saloon opened and a slim man with glasses and a poof of bright, blond hair walked in, casting a long shadow from the sun outside. Jacob made eye-contact and the two nodded. Jacob then touched Cassidy on the shoulder, who turned to look. She turned back around to the bartender as she began to rise. “I'm sorry to cut this short, but I've got business to attend to.” She reached into her coat to retrieve a dollar bill, but the bartender held up his hand.

  “It's on the house.” Cassidy nodded and put the dollar back in her coat before walking to the man who was still standing near the door. He motioned toward a table where they sat down in conference.

  “Jacob said you would make this... worth my time,” said the man in a thick-as-goulash eastern European accent.

  “Well, you get right to the point, don't you,” said Cassidy. The man did not respond. Cassidy sighed as she opened her coat and reached in. “I'm glad I carry cash,” she said as she pulled out a fifty dollar bill and slid it across the table to him.

  “Good,” replied the man. “The man came to me one day ago. He carry box. He say it have very special metal and wanted money. He was... nervous. He, he move... strange. He was very, very... young.”

  “How many pieces of metal were in the box?” asked Cassidy.

  “Six. There were six.”

  Cassidy looked at Jacob. “That has to be it. There were six pieces of metal missing. How many special boxes with six pieces of strange metal can there be?”

  The man continued. “I say I don't know. I say I need to talk to people. I tell him to wait until now. If he waited, he is up...” the man pointed up while searching for the word. “...stairs. He is upstairs now.”

  “Perfect. Perfect,” Cassidy said, sitting upright and pushing away from the table a bit. “A young, nervous man,” she said, looking up at the ceiling.

  “Yes. He will come here soon. To meet me.”

  “Well then. We will just have to greet him up in the hallway as he tries to leave” said Cassidy. “When were you scheduled to meet?”

  “Just after sun goes down. Night.” Cassidy looked out the window in the darkness. “This done?” asked the man, looking at Cassidy.

  Cassidy looked down at him. “Oh, yes. Yes. This is done. Thank you very much. You have made my life much easier.”

  “Ok. I go now. If guns are going to be...” he made a finger gun motion, “shooting, I want to be not here.”

  “Feel free. I'd rather you weren't here either,” said Cassidy as she stood up and straightened her coat. The man rose from his chair, bowed, and left. Jacob followed the man out with his gaze, smiling. After the man had left, Jacob started to chuckle. Cassidy turned to him with an inquisitive look. “What?”

  Jacob spoke while still looking out the window. “Oh. He speaks perfect English. He just does that to play with people.”

  “What?”

  Jacob snorted slightly with laughter. “Yes. He's lived here since he was five. His English is perfect. Better than mine.”

  Cassidy furrowed her brow and look out the window. “I... I don't know if I should be angry about this... oh for God's sake. Upstairs!” she commanded as she pointed up the stairs. Jacob started up the stairs as Cassidy walked over the bartender. “Just watch for movement. I'm going to ask the bartender a few questions. Jacob nodded.

  Cassidy walked over to the bartender. “Howdy again, miss.”

  “Howdy. I'm looking for someone who's staying in the hotel. A young, scrawny man. Probably looking
a bit nervous.”

  “Ha! Sorry, miss. That describes half of the men staying here.”

  “He would have arrived a day ago.”

  “Still no good. Five or six boys match that description.”

  Cassidy sighed. “Well, I guess I'm just going to have to wait him out.”

  “He do something to you?” the bartender asked.

  “Not really. I think he's just some young idiot. He stole something from me that he doesn't understand. I want it back.”

  “Why not just call the police?”

  “The police are incompetent. And besides, I'd at least like to try to keep this quiet.”

  “Fair enough, beer?”

  “Uh, yeah. May as well. I might be waiting for awhile,” Cassidy replied. The bartender filled up a mug and placed it on the counter in front of Cassidy. “So. Tell me more about this Annie Oakley.”

  ---

  The hallway was lit dimly with gas light that accentuated the golden color of the wallpaper. A large plant sat verdantly near the window at the end, the dark of the nascent night outside. Of the six doors running along the right side of the hallway, one opened quietly and slowly. Out came a man, no more than twenty years old, hunched over and looking far more diminutive than his size should have allowed him to be. He turned and locked the door behind before turning to walk down the hall. Before he could move, he froze, looking forward. Jacob stood there, pretending as though he had just come out of his own room.

  “Hi,” Jacob said, acting nonchalant.

  “Evening,” replied the young men nervously.

  Jacob turned and walked down the stairs, changing to a quick shuffle after he reached the halfway point of the stairwell. He hurried over to Cassidy at the bar.

  “The first boy to leave in hours. It may be him,” he said quietly to Cassidy.

  “Alright, go wait by a table near the door,” Cassidy said. “If he tries to run, I want you there.” Jacob nodded and moved to go but Cassidy stopped him. “Wait, wait! My hair. Tuck my hair into my vest. It will make me less noticeable.” Jacob quickly stuffed Cassidy's red hair into the back of her vest and tried his best to flatten it. “How's it look?” she asked.